


still

by kiazareni



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I keep hurting Yuri and I don't know why, M/M, Pining, Series of Connected Oneshots, Slow Burn, based on a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiazareni/pseuds/kiazareni
Summary: Based on the tumblr prompt: "things you said when you were crying"He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens his messages, squinting at the sudden bright light before Yuri’s last text comes into focus. He wonders if he should ask or say anything, but his medal is right there hanging from the back of a wooden chair and it reminds him that he’s probably the last person Yuri wants to hear from right now.





	1. things you said when you were crying

There are fingers snapping in front of him and Otabek blinks slowly, like he’s waking up from a dream. His chest feels heavy and it trembles when he’s breathing. It’s normal, or at least it should be, whenever he’s about to step onto the ice and fight his way through the following minutes to win a place on the podium.

This one is different. He is staring, and his entire body feels empty except for that unpleasant weight that hooked itself around his lungs and leaves the pit of his stomach hollow.

“Don’t watch,” he hears his coach and although she is standing right next to him, her voice seems distant, like there is a bubble around him that shuts the world out. “You need to focus on yourself, you’re up next.”

Otabek watches anyway.

On the ice, Yuri is a force of nature, a storm that sweeps through the arena and leaves nothing and nobody untouched, destroying everything that stands in his way. It’s unreal, to see him like this now, when the tables have turned and Yuri is the one being destroyed by the very storm he brought to life. It’s understandable, or at least it should be. Yuri has grown a lot during the off-season and on top of that he got injured during practice right before the season started.

Somehow he knows that it won’t make Yuri feel better. It doesn’t make Otabek feel better either.

Yuri doesn’t look at him when he steps out and takes his skate guards from Yakov. He doesn’t look at the screen when his scores are announced, and Otabek knows this because he can’t help but keep an eye on him while he is drawing figure eights onto the surface of the ice, waiting for his turn to start. Yuri’s face is blank, expressionless, but Otabek can see the faint hints of anger and the desperation to get out of there, to disappear while he can still hold himself together. The scores are low, so low that Otabek feels ashamed just for being there and hearing them.

Yuri doesn’t attend the medal ceremony, the gala or the banquet and disappears for the rest of the evening.

Otabek knows this, because he spends his time looking for him. Even when he is standing on the podium, the silver medal hanging from his neck, which only adds to the weight that pulls him down. He should be happy. And he is, after all he finished second at the Grand Prix Final, but his happiness is overshadowed by the absence of Yuri, who should be standing next to him, not at the sixth place, finishing last.

He skates through his exhibition and makes his rounds at the banquet, politely sharing a few words with some people so at least no one can say he skipped the whole thing. His eyes are constantly roaming across the room, looking for a flash of blonde hair or a pair of wild, green eyes but he knows he won’t find him there. Yuri needs to be alone right now and frankly, Otabek does too. He slips out quietly, avoiding the questions and the attempts to get him to stay a bit longer and goes to his own room.

Sleep can’t seem to find him though, and he gives up after an hour. He stares at the ceiling for a while, finds patterns in the stains of shadows painted there by the city lights outside. _That one looks like an arrow, there’s a person doing a cantilever,_ and he is exaggerating because it doesn’t look like that at all, but he needs something to think about, _and that’s a cat over there. Or a tiger._

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens his messages, squinting at the sudden bright light before Yuri’s last text comes into focus. He wonders if he should ask or say anything, but his medal is right there hanging from the back of a wooden chair and it reminds him that he’s probably the last person Yuri wants to hear from right now.

Still, he thinks. Still.

His fingers move to type, he doesn’t know what, but he’ll figure something out.

And then there’s knocking on his door, loud and persistent and Otabek is out of his bed in a second, phone dropped and forgotten in the pile of blankets somewhere. He doesn’t talk and doesn’t wait for Yuri to say anything either, just pulls him in and closes the door behind him, shutting the light of the hotel corridor out. It’s dark and he can’t see Yuri’s face but he thinks Yuri prefers it that way.

He tries not to think about what he’s doing as he draws Yuri in his arms and lies down with him, he tries not to think about how he’s wanted this for a while, Yuri’s slender, strong body next to him, cold feet touching his under the blanket. It’s not the right time to think about that so instead he’s trying to figure out what to say. Yuri is quiet, awfully so, and Otabek wants to pull away to look at his face but there are two hands curling into his t-shirt, keeping him close, tightening their grip on the fabric as soon as he moves.

“Yura,” he says quietly, and he’s not sure how to continue so he just brings up his hand to card his fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his ear. That one word shatters something in the air around them and pushes Yuri over the edge until Otabek feels something warm and wet on his t-shirt and realizes that Yuri is crying.

He runs a hand down his back, rubbing soothing lines along his spine and the sobbing becomes a bit louder. Yuri is fighting the tears and makes small, choked sounds as he clings to him, pressing his forehead against his collarbone. Otabek holds him while he’s crying and Yuri’s nails dig into his skin almost painfully as he tries to speak.

He stills, waiting patiently for him to get the words out.

“I can’t… I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Otabek wants to say that he doesn’t have to but stops himself at the last second and just tightens his arms around him. He remembers something from two years ago, something that Yuri said about him being the only one who can provide for his family and suddenly he understands.

He keeps Yuri in his arms until the tears stop, the sounds fade away and the boy falls asleep on his chest. Otabek doesn’t move, just presses a bit closer to bury his nose in the blonde locks, lips brushing against the top of Yuri’s head for a fleeting moment before he, too, feels his dreams taking over his mind.

When he wakes up, he’s alone.


	2. things you said when you thought i was asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Something has changed. It’s like Yuri’s body has gone silent, or maybe Otabek forgot how to read him, he doesn’t know."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot but i just couldn't leave it alone, it kept bugging me and so this happened. 
> 
> I think this is going to be a series of oneshots, halfway between individual stories and a multichapter fic, definitely connecting to each other and well, we'll see what happens. I have plans for at least 3 more parts at this point but I'm not making any promises because it might end up with 20 more. Who knows? Not me.

Sometimes Otabek is painfully aware that Yuri doesn’t tell him anything. 

Yuri just talks. A lot. Talks about skating, his programs, the elements he has to work on, and the ones he can do perfectly. He talks about what he thinks of Otabek’s choreographies and tells him where he needs to improve. He sends pictures of his food, his cat, his new clothes, his hair, he complains to him about Viktor and Yuuri and he teases Otabek relentlessly. He talks about everything that happens to him and around him. 

He doesn’t say anything about the injury he’s recovering from or the night after the Grand Prix Final, when he finished last and cried himself to sleep in Otabek’s arms. He was gone by the time Otabek woke up, the empty space next to him already cold and mocking him when he reached out half asleep to pull Yuri closer only to find that he was alone.

He doesn’t say anything about the words whispered in the darkness, between the small sobs cutting through his ragged breathing. “ _I don’t want to do this anymore._ ” Otabek doesn’t know if he meant it. He probably didn’t, because Yuri got up in the morning, left his room and went back to work harder than he ever had before, never saying a word about what happened. 

It’s not surprising, because he knows that Yuri doesn’t tell him anything. However, something has changed.

Otabek knows this, because whenever they get to meet in person, he rarely ever takes his eyes off of Yuri anymore. He can’t help it. Hearing his voice without the distortion of the speakers, seeing his face not framed by the edge of the computer screen is something he always looks forward to, a rare opportunity to see everything Yuri won’t talk about. Neither of them are good with words, but Otabek has learned the language Yuri speaks with his body, he understands the meaning behind a wave of his arm, a slight tilt of his head, the way he flicks his hair back. He can read the clench of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, or how he lifts his chin and presses his lips together. 

He sees entire sentences hidden behind his crossed arms, confessions written in the bright green irises, in the way he blinks, moves, rolls his eyes or lowers them to hide the truth that’s undeniably there.

Or at least, he used to see them. 

Otabek can only stand at the gate and watch helplessly as Yuri races past him, every inch of his body focused on the elements of his program. It’s only the first official practice before Worlds officially kicks off in two days, but Yuri is fighting as if this is the last battle that decides a war. He doesn’t so much as glance at him. 

Something has changed. It’s like Yuri’s body has gone silent, or maybe Otabek forgot how to read him, he doesn’t know. He’s watching as Yuri goes through his short program like a ghost and his step sequence is flawless, but his face is expressionless and distant. He practices his jumps, lands every single one of them and Otabek wonders why he still looks like he’s losing the battle he is so desperately fighting.

He lies awake in his bed at night, waiting for the darkness to fall, but it doesn’t come. The sun doesn’t want to set in Helsinki, even though it’s past 10 pm the sky is still painted with shades of light blue, pink and purple blending together on the horizon and Otabek doesn’t know what to do. He waits for Yuri to knock on his door, then tries to work up the courage to go and find him but it’s harder without the darkness to shield them from the world and from each other. 

Still. Yuri might be waiting for him and that’s enough reason to get up and put his shoes on. The worst thing that could happen is Yuri asking what he wants in the middle of the night and if that happens, he can figure something out. Maybe he will yell at him and ask what the hell he was thinking, showing up in his room, but Otabek doesn’t care. There is only one thing he knows for sure, and that is that Yuri is pushing him away, which means he needs Otabek more than ever. 

He’s at the door before he could really think about it and swings it open, only to take a step back, stunned. 

Yuri lowers his clenched fist hovering in front of him. He stays silent, but he doesn’t seem particularly surprised or self-conscious, just stands there, looking right at him and waiting. It’s like he challenges Otabek to take the first step, and so he does, he reaches out and grabs Yuri’s hand, pulling him inside just like last time. 

And just like last time, Otabek leads him to the bed and lies down next to him, and just like last time, Yuri snuggles closer until he can press his nose against Otabek’s collarbone, one arm circling his waist, the other resting between them. It can’t be comfortable, Otabek thinks, but Yuri seems content.

“Good night, Beka,” he says quietly, his eyes already closed, fingers curling around Otabek’s side.

“Good night, Yura.”

He hugs him a little bit closer and closes his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of Yuri’s soft, steady breathing. He dreams of a pair of bright, green eyes, golden hair that shines like it was kissed by the sun itself. Of light touches, fingers on his waist, forehead pressed against his shoulder. He dreams of having this everyday, this casual, unspoken intimacy between them without the need to hide in the darkness. 

He wakes a few hours later to the feeling of fingers caressing the skin on the back of his hand, up and down slowly, barely even touching. He blinks away the dreams but doesn’t move, his aching muscles won’t let him. He’s tired, feels a weight on his ankles after the day’s practice but there are soft lines being drawn onto his skin and it’s enough to keep him from falling asleep again. 

Yuri turns his head slightly, nuzzling his nose in the crook of his neck and stares down at their hands, moving his fingers across his knuckles. Otabek holds his breath, doesn’t dare to move in case he disturbs this peaceful moment. Yuri’s quiet sigh dances across his skin, the small huff of air making him shiver as it trails down to his collarbone.

He closes his eyes again, fights the urge to press his lips against Yuri’s hair, wills his fingers to stay still while Yuri takes his time drawing endless figures, crescent moons on his palm, bringing his hand up along the line of his index finger, tracing the curl of his nail. He doesn’t want to disturb him, he’s not sure Yuri wants him to be awake. 

He knows he made the right decision when he feels the hand disappear a moment later. His fingers curl and he can’t stop them, grasping at nothing as he yearns for the small touches again, the feeling of slightly cold skin on his own, the careful press of fingertips against the back of his hand. 

And then, only for a fleeting moment he feels the same soft brush of a feather-light touch following his jawline and Otabek stays still, slows down his breathing and prays that Yuri can’t hear his heartbeat breaking the silence of the night, betraying the truth as it’s throbbing against his chest mercilessly.

Yuri’s finger stills on his chin and the pad of his thumb rests over his lower lip. His touch is light and careful, vanishing when Otabek exhales slowly, shying away and back to his waist. Yuri doesn’t wake him and doesn’t talk, doesn’t tell him anything but Otabek knows how to read him and hopes that he still remembers and understands the language of his movements. 

Except he can’t answer, not right now when Yuri only whispers his touch and retreats with what Otabek reads as fear of rejection. Not when he paints his words on the black canvas of the night around them, hoping that he cannot be heard like that.

He stays still.


	3. things you said under the stars and in the grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He looks and looks, examines closely because there was a light in Yuri that went out somewhere along the way when he wasn’t watching and he won’t make that mistake again._

Yuri has changed his costume. 

Otabek knows this, because once again, he is watching from the side of the rink as the remaining competitors take the ice one by one, in an attempt to beat the highest score which is currently his.

He isn’t sure Yuri will succeed and the thought worries him more than it should. His eyes trail down to the neckline of his shirt where the first two buttons are hanging undone, allowing him to follow the hard line of his collarbone peeking out from under the costume.

It’s plain, for lack of better word. Tight black pants with a dark grey shirt that hugs his figure nicely, complimenting his slender body in a way that makes it difficult for Otabek to look away. The clothes are unusually simple, verging on the edge of boring but Yuri looks all the more strikingly beautiful like this, his hair pulled into a low ponytail, a few golden strands framing his face as he turns his head and casts his eyes down.

His movements are slow and calculated and there is a grim expression on his face. It fits the music. It does not fit Yuri. 

Otabek, once again, can feel that something has changed, like the air around him has somehow become heavier, and he realizes with a sudden drop in his stomach that it’s Yuri. It’s Yuri who radiates that low, deep energy from his body that is so different from the fire that used to rage inside him, it’s Yuri whose angelic features have hardened into something else, something that is not simply the result of growing up.

He looks and looks, examines closely because there was a light in Yuri that went out somewhere along the way when he wasn’t watching and he won’t make that mistake again.

When Yuri strikes his ending pose, eyes flickering around the arena with a soft glow, lips pulling into a hollow smile as he bows in all four directions, that’s when Otabek knows. 

It doesn’t matter if he looks now. He’s seen this before anyway, remembers the smile that looks like there are strings hooked into the corners of his lips, looked into those eyes that shine bright but empty, like all the colours were drained from them, too slowly for anyone to notice.

He stood next to that person on the podium a few years ago. He saw it in all its reality, the flawless, glamorous facade behind which was a person hidden away, curled up and shielded under layers and layers of a carefully built image he showed to the outside world. 

Otabek never thought he would see the ghost of Viktor Nikiforov greet him in the shadow of Yuri’s feigned smile.

That night, when he reaches out for him again, Yuri doesn’t take his hand. 

He stays just outside his door, with his fists clenched, his expression determined and Otabek can feel his eyes lingering on him, settling somewhere around the hem of his t-shirt. It makes him self-conscious because they have never talked about these nights before, never discussed exactly what it means to them but the way Yuri’s eyes trail down from his neck to his hips feels like a conversation. 

Yuri keeps his hands lowered, fingers hidden in his pockets and Otabek has never wanted to be closer to him. He stays still, waits for him to take the lead this time and somehow it feels like there is a bridge between them and he’s just missed his chance to cross it.

“I wanna go somewhere,” Yuri says out loud, head stubbornly raised back up to meet Otabek’s eyes. 

He nods and looks down at himself.

“Okay. Let me get dressed.”

Yuri almost seems surprised at how easily he agreed to it, but he follows Otabek inside and waits for him to change. He doesn’t even turn away which Otabek thinks should bother him but it doesn’t. It feels natural, to let Yuri see him as he is, since he’s seen everything else already. The weight of his gaze burns Otabek’s skin and the memory of their previous night together haunts him as he aches for Yuri’s touch again. He wishes he could hold him again without the mask of the night and wishes they didn’t need the excuse of loneliness, disappointment or misery.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks later when they stand next to his bike, helmets in their hands and city lights reflected in their eyes. Yuri gives a small shrug, holds onto the helmet tightly and avoids looking back at him. 

“Anywhere. Away.”

Otabek smiles then, sits on the bike and gestures for Yuri to follow him.

“Okay, I can do that.”

The Ducati roars to life and then Otabek is driving, taking him away from the noise and the lights to the outskirts of Helsinki where life has already slowed down. He can feel Yuri’s grip on his waist but his hold on him only makes it easier to breathe, the warm body that presses against his back anchors him more than the bike under them. The light of the street lamps melt into orange streaks just visible from the corner of his eye and he tightens his hold on the rental’s handles, taking a deep breath and letting the chilly air that sneaks in under the helmet clear his head.

He stops when they reach the place Otabek was looking for, and Yuri jumps off the bike with ease, looking around with a frown on his face. On the other end of the narrow sidewalk he spots the empty beach in the dark and scrunches his nose at it, pressing his lips together. It looks so typically Yuri that Otabek almost has to laugh. He also realizes just how long it’s been since he last saw that expression on him. 

Or any expression, really. 

“Seriously? I’m not sitting in the sand, that’s disgusting.” He points at his black jeans with an eyebrow arched and Otabek does laugh at that as he turns away from the beach and starts walking in the other direction.

“Easy there, Anakin,” he says, “that’s not where we’re going.”

He doesn’t have to look back to see if Yuri is following him. He knows he is, because the next second there are cold fingers curling around his own carefully, just barely touching his skin. He turns his palm up to take Yuri’s hand properly and that, again, feels like a conversation between the two of them, one that Otabek isn’t sure he knows what it means.

They don’t talk again until they are both sitting on the grass, staring up at the thousand stars above them. The silence weighs heavily between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s filled with words they aren’t ready to say, and Otabek thinks it’s alright for now. He doesn’t know what Yuri isn’t telling him, but sometimes the silence is better than saying all the wrong things. 

“Congratulations on winning the short.” Yuri scoffs so quietly Otabek thinks he might have imagined it. 

“It should have been you,” he replies without looking at him. Otabek is watching as Yuri closes his eyes and leans back, like he is bathing in the faint starlight and the soft blue sky that still hasn’t darkened completely. His blond hair falls behind his shoulders and like this, Otabek can almost see why the world calls him the russian fairy. 

He only wishes he could see the wings too. He finds himself wondering again, trying to remember how Yuri lost those. 

“You sound disappointed,” he tells him, “I can still beat you tomorrow.”

“You won’t,” Yuri turns his head and looks at him then, eyes boring a hole into Otabek’s own. He is confident, but not smug, instead he says it as if it happened already and neither of them can change anything about it. There is something slowly stirring deep behind the emerald green eyes, something like a silent plea for Otabek to listen. He doesn’t want to say the words but wants Otabek to hear them. 

And he does.

The thing about soldiers is that they don’t want to go to war. 

Yuri doesn’t want to win, but he will. He will win every fight until the day he’s finally allowed to stop.


	4. things you didn't say at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"All it took was one wrong word and Otabek knows which one it was."_

“Why did you change your costume?”

There are flashing lights dancing around them when Otabek asks the question that’s been on his mind for days. He doesn’t like how his voice sounds when he speaks. It’s too quiet, too careful, not at all how he usually talks when it’s just the two of them but he can’t help it. For a second he thinks Yuri might not have heard him over the blasting music and the steady background noise of people chatting around them because he doesn’t move, doesn’t raise his eyes to look at him and Otabek feels invisible.

He waits and watches as Yuri follows the line of the empty glass in front of him with his finger, then pulls his hand back and shrugs. 

“It fits the program better than the sparkly shit,” he says. His eyes flicker around the room and he straightens his back, reaching for the nearest bottle to get a refill. They are sitting next to each other, alone at the table and far from the celebrating people but Otabek thinks Yuri is still further away than any of them.

“You love sparkly shits,” he decides to answer when Yuri doesn’t offer any other explanation. 

“So I can’t wear anything else but that? All the time?” Yuri rolls his eyes and Otabek can hear the frustration in his voice as he replies. He’s glad to hear it, though. Yuri being frustrated and annoyed is something familiar, something he’s used to. 

“You can, I just didn’t expect you to.”

That was not the right thing to say, he can see it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Yuri’s expression goes darker, the emotions fading in his eyes, taking the brightness of the green irises with them. All it took was one wrong word and Otabek knows which one it was.

“Maybe you should stop expecting anything from me,” is all Yuri says but he doesn’t completely shut him out because the bottle is still in his hands and he is offering it to him. Otabek nods before he can even think about it, pushing his glass towards him. Lord knows they both need another drink. 

It’s not even that good. The champaign burns his throat but he drinks it anyway, waits for the alcohol to kick in and make this night easier. 

Someone comes by and congratulates Yuri on another gold medal. Otabek knows better. He hasn’t even mentioned it and doesn’t plan to. Yuri barks out a ‘thanks’ and the person goes away. Otabek has no idea who it was.

It’s like this all night. People find Yuri everywhere and go on and on about how perfect he was on the ice and how great it must feel to get his second gold at Worlds. Yuri says ‘thanks’ and Otabek stays silent. 

He thinks back to that moment on the podium when they posed for pictures and he saw Yuri smiling at the cameras around them. He held up his medal with pride, a wide grin on his face, but his eyes were empty like he used all his energy up for that smile.

“I expect one thing from you,” Otabek says suddenly when they are alone again. He tears his eyes away from the table and looks up at Yuri. “Dance with me.”

He braces himself for an excuse or an insult but Yuri just shrugs and puts his glass down.

“Why not?” he says. 

They stumble a bit while getting up from the table and Otabek realizes he might be a little bit drunk already. Still, he stands up straight and holds Yuri’s hand as tight as he dares, fearing that Yuri might slip away if he doesn’t pay attention. He doesn’t seem like he wants to leave the banquet but it’s not what Otabek is afraid of anyway. There is a familiar small smile in the corner of Yuri’s lips which appears less and less lately, and Otabek just wants to hold on to him as long as Yuri allows it. 

It’s a rare, fragile moment when Yuri smiles at him and Otabek knows he would do anything to keep that smile alive. He knows by now that he got caught up in his own emotions but he cannot bring himself to care. 

He also knows that Yuri had it all wrong earlier when he said that Otabek should stop expecting anything from him. He doesn’t. He never cared about the expectations Yuri faced, the image he had to hold up in front of the world. He doesn’t want him to be strong all the time, to fight all the time, to win all the time. Everything he does want is right in front him. 

It’s just Yuri. Yuri and that tiny smile that makes his stomach flutter with a feeling that’s always been there but still feels new, like he’s seeing him for the first time.

“Alright, Altin,” he hears, and Yuri takes a step forward, turning around to face him, “show me what you can do.”

There are people singing and dancing around them as Otabek leads Yuri to the other side of the banquet hall, to a less crowded corner. They jump up and down as ridiculously as they can and Otabek feels like a child in the best possible way. Everything is blurry around him so he closes his eyes and feels the beat in his stomach, feels the lights hitting his eyelids, feels Yuri’s body against his even though they aren’t touching. 

And he wants. He wants so much it’s tearing him apart, so he reaches for Yuri’s hands and tugs him a little bit closer. He curls his fingers around his waist and Yuri leans into the embrace, laughing as he brushes his hair out of his face. 

Otabek pushes him away, takes his hand and raises it until Yuri can spin around his heel. Their fingers get tangled up, but he doesn’t want to let go so he just adjusts his hold and pulls him back in his arms. He feels Yuri’s other hand around his shoulders and presses closer, resting his forehead in the crook of Yuri’s neck. 

He stays still there. They are swaying in one place, and he breathes in, bringing up his hand to bury his fingers in Yuri’s hair, thumb brushing against the soft skin behind his ear. The music is all around them and it’s somehow not right in that moment, it’s too fast, strong and happy and Otabek just wants to slow down. He feels tired.

“Hey,” Yuri nudges him a little and leans away so he can talk to him, “what’s wrong?”

It would be so easy to say nothing, to blame it on the alcohol and pretend that he just wants to go to sleep. He could even tell him that he’s disappointed with his own silver medal.

There were lines before, carefully drawn that he would never have dared stepping over. These last few days the lines became blurry, and now Otabek can’t even see them anymore.

“I love you,” he says.

Yuri freezes against him. 

He doesn’t have to say anything for Otabek to hear his answer louder than any song that’s playing around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 4.30 am and I'm drunk, please go easy on me


	5. things you said with too many miles between us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Someone gently pushes his shoulder and then he moves, lets himself be led out of the room and follows Yakov down a narrow corridor. The white noise gets louder, even though the conversation around him has stopped. He is gazing out of the windows as they pass by them, each revealing another piece of the puzzle that is the outskirts of Moscow. The city is bright and alive and scary and Otabek thinks he could get used to it, if he’s allowed to stay._

Otabek is thirteen when he sees him for the first time. 

There are people talking to him, and he cannot pay attention. He stares at the boring white walls and tries to tune them out, focuses on the thin cracks and the shadows hiding inside them, follows the trails until they tie into each other and disappear in the corner of the room like a spiderweb. He thinks a place like this should not have cracks in its walls, but the building stands tall and beautiful and no one else seems to notice the flaws.

The sounds around him are distant, as if he is listening to them through a thick wall and he lets them float, lets his thoughts run free until the voices fade into a white noise. He knows what they are saying anyway, he heard the first few words and the rest are details that don’t concern him. He gets the message.

He is not good enough. 

Someone gently pushes his shoulder and then he moves, lets himself be led out of the room and follows Yakov down a narrow corridor. The white noise gets louder, even though the conversation around him has stopped. He is gazing out of the windows as they pass by them, each revealing another piece of the puzzle that is the outskirts of Moscow. The city is bright and alive and scary and Otabek thinks he could get used to it, if he’s allowed to stay.

Yakov turns, and Otabek follows him without a word, steps into a room with at least ten other people, who immediately stop and turn toward him, blinking curiously at the stranger lingering just behind the door. Otabek is older than all of them but he never felt smaller. He doesn’t look back at anyone, and instead quickly crosses the room while Yakov starts talking again. Otabek takes his place at the back and does not listen to the sounds around him. He knows what they are saying anyway.

He sees movement from the corner of his eye, swift and silent, which is odd amongst the constant whispering of others. He wishes he could just turn the volume up on the white noise and shut the world out completely, but the words find their way inside his head and they get louder each time he fails to ignore them.

He is not good enough. 

He turns his head, lets himself be drawn to the movement and he meets invisible walls that force him on the outside with the rest of the group. He imagines there must be complete silence within them and longs to be a part of it. 

 

Otabek is eighteen when he talks to him for the first time. 

They ride his bike across the narrow streets of Barcelona, discovering all the hidden pathways Yuri has never bothered to look at before. Otabek feels proud that he gets to show him something new, and loses himself in the childish excitement radiating from his new friend. 

He learns, and learns, and learns, and feels like he will never get to the end of Yuri Plisetsky. Just when he thinks he knows him, Yuri surprises him with something that adds another layer to the hundreds Otabek thinks he’s already peeled away.

Yuri is everything and nothing like he imagined. He is bright and alive and scary and Otabek thinks he could get used to it, if he’s allowed to stay.

 

He is twenty-one when he thinks he might never see him again.

He is standing alone in the same corner Yuri left him when he stormed out, muttering poor excuses that Otabek didn’t want to hear. The banquet hall shifts and closes in around him and he feels a weight on his chest that prevents him from breathing. His legs move on their own and he crosses the room, ignores the music that flattens into the familiar white noise in his ears, overlapped by the sound of his heart beating hard against his chest. He clenches his fist, pushing it against his shirt and loosens his tie as he all but runs toward the exit. 

He screwed up. He knows it now, Yuri trusted him and Otabek has failed to be his friend.

He is not good enough.

It doesn’t even matter to him that Yuri doesn’t feel the same way, because Otabek knows that he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. It was the wrong place and the wrong time, and now he just wishes he could take it back, undo the last few minutes and go back to where he was someone Yuri could trust to support him without ever expecting something in return. 

He goes back to his room and wills himself to fall asleep to the remaining traces of the music they danced to. When he wakes up, he sees Yuri’s instagram post from the airport, wearing a smile so bright it almost blinds you to the coldness in his eyes.

Otabek opens up his messages and types in a quick text to him. He hopes Yuri hasn’t boarded yet and will receive it soon, and he hopes he won’t see it until he lands, and he hopes he will change his mind before he hits send and decide to let some distance between them. 

That last idea leaves an ugly taste in his mouth.

_09.23 am: See you at WTT in April._

He waits until it’s time for him to start packing as well. He waits until he’s returned the rental bike, clutches his phone in his hands on his way to the airport, checks it before boarding and sneaks another glance at it when he’s already on the plane, waiting for take off. It feels like the empty screen is somehow mocking him, and with every passing minute he feels further away from Yuri than he ever has before.

He keeps searching for excuses. Maybe Yuri hasn’t even received his text. Maybe he has but he just hasn’t seen it yet. Post-competition days are always about letting your body and mind heal, allowing yourself a few blissful hours of rest before you get back to training, and although Yuri has never turned off his phone before, he also never has been betrayed by his best friend. 

Otabek has to squeeze his eyes shut when the memory resurfaces, focusing on chasing away the uninvited pictures of them dancing, of the way Yuri froze against him when he understood what Otabek was saying. He can’t help but blame himself. He was unable to control his emotions when Yuri was vulnerable, and if it doesn’t break their friendship, it will certainly leave a crack in the wall. Others may not notice, but Otabek will. 

He always does.


End file.
